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    Twelfth Night
    Twelfth Night
    Twelfth Night
    Ebook92 pages1 hour

    Twelfth Night

    By Flora Speer

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    About this ebook

    Mourning the death of her beloved grandfather, Aline visits the library to which he donated a medieval Book of Hours. While gazing at the December illustration, she suddenly finds herself on a muddy road, buffeted by wind and snow, about to be run down by a troop of armored horsemen. When the leader demands to know what she’s doing on his land, all Aline can say is that she’s lost.

    Assuming from her accent and her clothing that she must be a noblewoman, Lord Adam takes her to his home, Shotley Castle. There Aline quickly learns it’s the early twelfth century, and December 23. Christmas celebrations will soon begin.

    Adam’s son, Blaise, and daughter-in-law, Constance, are unhappily married. At Adam’s request Aline agrees to try to help the pair. She finds Adam irresistible, especially when he insists upon trekking into the forest to find holly and greenery. He’s a fair and just lord to his people, an open-hearted host, and his lovemaking is beyond anything Aline has ever known. He gives her a gold ring that he says once belonged to his late sister.

    The days of Christmas pass quickly until Twelfth Night. After the final celebration, as the castle folk sink into exhausted sleep, a fierce gust of wind and snow snatches Aline out of Adam’s bedchamber, leaving her back where she began.

    A man who identifies himself as Phillip Mallory, who once knew her grandfather, has come looking for her. As he questions her, Aline sees Adam’s ring on her finger and knows the last days were not a dream.

    Phillip offers to drive her home and as they walk outside, through the crisp December air, Aline hears someone singing “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” and realizes her initial grief over her grandfather has lessened and she is at peace.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFlora Speer
    Release dateSep 21, 2011
    ISBN9781466144743
    Twelfth Night
    Author

    Flora Speer

    Flora Speer is the author of twenty-two book-length romances and two novellas, all traditionally published. The stories range from historical romances to time-travel, to futuristic. Born in southern New Jersey, she now lives in Connecticut. Her favorite activities include gardening (especially flowers and herbs used in medieval gardens,) amateur astronomy, and following the U.S. space program, which has occasionally been a source of ideas for her futuristic romances.

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      Book preview

      Twelfth Night - Flora Speer

      Twelfth Night

      By Flora Speer

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2011 by Flora Speer

      Copyright 1993, by Flora Speer

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Cover Design Copyright 2011,

      By http//:DigitalDonna

      Chapter 1

      Farmington, Connecticut

      December 23

      "Just where do you think you are going?’ Lucinda Carstairs glared at her older sister. She kept her voice low, but Aline could tell Luce was angry. So was Luce’s husband, Bill, who pushed his bulk in front of Alice to block her exit from the dining room.

      Come on now, Ally, Bill said. You can’t walk out on your own grandfather’s funeral. It wouldn’t look right.

      I am not walking out on the funeral, Aline replied. "I was there at the church and at the gravesite, and I have been here at your house for more than three hours. I’ve had enough of polite condolences and small talk – and entirely too much of dainty sandwiches and cookies and tea. Gramps would have demanded a slice of roast beef on rye and a glass of good Scotch whiskey.

      Luce, it’s nothing you’ve done, or you either, Bill. It’s just that I need to be alone for a while, Aline added, feeling guilty for her imminent defection from the social duties her sister expected of her.

      But I have someone here I especially wanted you to meet, Lucinda protested. A man I just know you will like.

      Not today, Aline cried. Good God, Luce, can’t you stop the matchmaking even for Gramps’ funeral? I’ve told you at least a hundred times, I do not want to get married again. Once was more than enough.

      Ally, you don’t understand.

      Let her go, Bill advised when Lucinda would have continued to argue. Any man who meets her when she’s in this mood will only turn tail and run the other way.

      Has anyone ever told you, Aline hissed, all patience gone, that you are the most insensitive couple in the history of the entire world?

      Aline! Lucinda glanced around to see if any of her guests had noticed her dismayed exclamation. When she spoke again, she lowered her voice to a near whisper. I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult. Gramps was almost ninety-three, he lived a full life, and he was ready to go. He told us so on the day he died. We all knew he couldn’t live much longer. He – and I – accepted the inevitable. Why can’t you?

      You’re right, Luce, Aline said. You don’t understand. You probably never will. Thanks for your efforts today. It has been a lovely party, but it’s time for me to leave.

      As Aline hurried out of the dining room she brushed against a man she had never seen before.

      Sorry, she muttered, assuming he was some friend of Bill’s and unwilling to pause lest Luce or Bill should come after her.

      I say, aren’t you –

      Aline was too eager to be gone from her sister’s house to stop and chat. Grabbing her cape off the Victorian coat rack by the front door, she ran across the porch and down the steps. Only when she reached the street did she stand still long enough to put on the cape. Shivering in the cold December wind, she pulled the billowing folds of heavy grey wool around her, then fastened the silver clasp at her throat and drew up the hood.

      Gramps had given the cape to her. Every time she enfolded herself in it, she felt as if his arms were circling her, holding her safe and warm. The cape was almost all she had left of him. Almost, but not quite all. For there was another legacy from Gramps that still survived: the illuminated Book of Hours he had purchased in Europe early in the century. When he learned he did not have long to live, Gramps had taken care that his most valuable worldly possession would be permanently kept in a safe place where others who cared about its beauty as he and Aline did could see it and use it for historical or art research.

      As firmly as the grey wool of the cape sat upon Aline’s shoulders, so the desire came over her to see the book again. If she could hold that beautiful object in her hands once more, perhaps she wouldn’t feel so lost and alone. Perhaps some part of Gramps would cling to the book and, like the cape, it would comfort her.

      She hurried to her car. Surprised to see a dusting of snow on it, she brushed the flakes off the windshield, then opened the door. Before getting into the car she glanced upward at the heavy clouds that seemed ready to open and engulf the world in white.

      The Victorian Gothic architecture of the college library remained unchanged since Aline’s days as a student. At the windows, pointed arches framed small, diamond-shaped panes of glass. Overhead, dark wooden beams traced the higher arches that supported the ceiling. Two rows of oak tables with sturdy matching chairs marched down the length of the room.

      The architect tried to make this place look like the great hall of a medieval castle, Gramps had told Aline during one of their many visits. "He didn’t succeed, though.

      There are too many windows and no big fireplaces."

      Personally, Aline had always though the library more resembled a Gothic church.

      There was nothing medieval about the young woman at the librarian’s desk just inside the entrance. Perhaps in honor of the season, she was dressed in bright red from her turtleneck sweater to her miniskirt and opaque tights to her spike-heeled suede shoes. She was also thoroughly modern in her abruptness.

      We’re closing in one hour, she said.

      I don’t intend to stay long, Aline replied. I just want to see one of the rare books.

      You’ll need permission from the head librarian.

      I have this. Aline presented the special library card Gramps had obtained for her when he donated the book to the library under the sole condition that Aline could have free access to it.

      I chose that particular library in part because it’s close to where you live, Gramps had told her. You’ll be able to visit the book whenever you like, but you won’t have to worry about keeping it clean and free from mildew or bookworms, and the new vault they’ve installed ought to be safe from thieves.

      The librarian took the special card and looked closely at it. She seemed impressed by what she saw.

      The rare book room is through there, she said, indicating the door at the far end of the library, or you can just use the big room As you can see no one else is here this afternoon. She disappeared on her errand to retrieve the book from the basement vault.

      Aline did not like the rare book room It was small and dark, the walls filled with glass-enclosed, locked cases, the air heavy from constant recycling. She chose a table in the main room. After dumping her purse onto a chair and draping her cape over it, she

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